


she'll know me crazy, soothe me daily, better yet she wouldn't care

by idontneedyourlifeline



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author Projecting onto Melanie King, But only a little, Canon-Typical Eye Trauma, Character Study, Coming Out, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Gender Dysphoria, Hurt/Comfort, IDK what else to tell you, Light Angst, Nonbinary Melanie King, Other, Post-Canon, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Melanie King, author is non-binary, it's not graphic though, its only mentioned in passing but i need you to know that it is there, listen its mostly just abt nb melanie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29106951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idontneedyourlifeline/pseuds/idontneedyourlifeline
Summary: Melanie King's thoughts on gender and being loved by Georgie Barker.
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	she'll know me crazy, soothe me daily, better yet she wouldn't care

**Author's Note:**

> I've written lots of fics before but this is my first that I've ever posted. It's just a lot of me projecting onto Melanie, honestly. Title is from Jackie and Wilson by Hozier. Content warnings in the end notes.

Melanie had known for a long time that she probably wasn’t cis. She’d always been self-assured, larger-than-life in a frankly intimidating way, but underneath there was that wrongness, the feeling of something not being quite right. It culminated in how she viewed herself, when she looked in the mirror, the soft figure she saw didn’t match up with how she felt. Her chest was a source of discomfort, thinking about it made her squirm and avoid looking at it. But it was easy to cover up. She was small, so oversized t-shirts and coats with angular silhouettes covered the worst of it. Dark clothes and spiky accessories and thick-platformed boots hid her curves and soft bits and made it so that no one would ever consider her feminine, even if they still perceived her as a girl. 

She’d tried to explain it, once or twice. To her friend, in uni, before she dropped out. To her co-host on Ghost Hunt UK. To a short-lived girlfriend. To a cousin, even, just once. That one had been particularly bad. Each attempt drew a negative response, from skepticism to outright disgust. So she’d… shut up about it. It was another thing to be angry about, to hide behind walls of knives and pointed words. If people were not going to respond kindly to her showing herself, then why try in the first place? And it was fine. She was alone after Ghost Hunt UK’s very messy ending, so she didn’t have to deal with how other people perceived her at all. And then at the Institute, she was hardly addressed. Whenever she was, it was obvious that whoever it was - Jon, Martin, Basira, Tim - was intimidated by her, or didn’t like her, or a lovely mix of both. She didn’t have to worry about them thinking about her femininity. She didn’t even have to worry about the words they used to refer to her. It was only ever her name, no pronouns. And she’d heard that so many times that it didn’t even register to her anymore. 

And then the bullet had come out of her leg. She wasn’t as angry anymore, not like she used to be. Her anger at everything else had diminished, almost as if it were unjustified. And her anger at how she was perceived, how her past attempts at talking about it had been received, morphed into something else. Discomfort. There were days where everything felt so horribly wrong, she could scarcely stand to pull herself out of bed. By this point, she was sleeping in the institute, same as the rest of the assistants. They didn’t notice anything amiss, though. She’d made it clear how she felt about their ties to the institute. She only worked if she had to. So, if she stayed in her cot, blanket drawn over her head, lights out… Well, that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Basira was the only one who showed any concern, and that was quickly dashed when Daisy returned to take up all of her spare thoughts. 

Looking back, it was probably the sort of thing she should’ve brought up in therapy. But it didn’t really gel well. She’d imagined it, a couple of times.  
“So my boss is the servant of an evil eldritch fear god, and he’s just as trapped as I am, and I hate him. Also, I think I might not actually be a girl?”  
It didn’t seem like a natural progression of topics. So she just never mentioned it. There were more immediate things to work through, like the lingering anger and bitter hatred. And the matter of her being unable to quit her job. 

\-----

She’d thought blinding herself would make it easier. Maybe not being able to look in the mirror, not having to think about her body as a physical, perceivable thing would make some of the discomfort subside. But she was wrong. It just… changed. She took more notice of how people referred to her. Her voice, it’s feminine cadence, grated on nerves she hadn’t known she had. And when she or Georgie accidentally brushed up against a soft spot, her chest or her hips or her stomach, she had to stop herself from recoiling. 

Georgie noticed, of course. And she worried. Even if Melanie couldn’t see it, she could tell.  
“Mel, love, are you okay? You seem uncomfortable,” she’d say, fingers light on Melanie’s wrist or the back of her hand. And Melanie would brush it off.  
“I- yeah. I’m fine. Just tired, is all.”  
It wasn’t a lie, exactly. And Georgie would let her stand up, brush off her gentle hands, and wander to the bedroom. She gave her space. Melanie heard her talking to the Admiral about it, just once.  
“I know it’s hard, and I know I need to give her time. But I’m worried, you know-” and here, the Admiral let out an indignant noise, and Melanie could imagine him squirming in Georgie’s arms “-Calm down, baby, it’s okay. God, you’re a gremlin.” 

She didn’t find the words to discuss it until at least a month later. It was scary. Even if she knew Georgie would be okay with it in a general sense, it was different. They were dating. There was a very real possibility that Georgie would not want to be her girlfriend anymore. 

They were curled up on the couch, Great British Bake Off playing in the background. Georgie readjusted her arms around Melanie, which jostled Melanie’s arm against her side and made her recoil slightly, not awake enough to catch it in time. Georgie reacted in an instant, withdrawing her arms and turning so that she was facing Melanie.  
“Are you alright?” she said, voice soft and high with worry.  
Melanie didn’t answer for a moment, choosing her words carefully.  
“I need to talk to you about something,” she finally said, drumming her fingers against her leg.  
“Okay. Sure, go for it.” Georgie responded, moving to thread her fingers through Melanie’s, leaving space for her to draw away.  
“I- I don’t think I’m a girl..?” Melanie said, and then instantly cursed herself. “Scratch that, I’m not a girl. I know it.”  
“Okay. So… what are you instead? Do you have different pronouns you like?”  
“I don’t know, I don’t know. All I know is that I’m not a girl. Maybe… non-binary? I just- I don’t like being perceived as a girl, and I hate my voice and my chest and all of the soft bits and I...” she trailed off.  
“That’s okay, love. You don’t have to know right now. We can try some things out, some new pronouns, I can find some articles on some things that might make you feel less uncomfortable. Thank you for telling me. Thank you for trusting me.”  
And that was when Melanie broke, bursting into tears.  
“Oh, my love,” Georgie said, looping her arms around Melanie’s back, careful to avoid her chest, drawing her close to her. Once the tears had stopped, Melanie spoke again.  
“I wasn’t expecting to cry today,” she said, letting out a wet chuckle. “I love you so much,” she continued, and tucked her head under Georgie’s chin.  
“I love you too. Thank you for trusting me.” 

\----- 

The apocalypse kind of threw a wrench in Melanie’s plans to explore their gender. They’d managed to work out that they/them pronouns were good. Really good, actually. And then their idiot ex-boss had gone and started the end of the world. There wasn’t exactly time to consider their gender and try out new pronouns when they were travelling through the apocalypse blind, leading what was probably best described as a cult. But that was alright. They had Georgie, and they had a reasonably safe hideout, and that was what mattered for the time being. 

They’d expected Georgie to have forgotten about her promise to help Melanie’s gender exploration, by the time the apocalypse had ended. It was their third week in a new flat, one they’d leased together once they were sure it was all over. Georgie was picking paint colours, and Melanie was labelling the contents of their fridge with little audio markers, so it was a surprise when the doorbell rang.  
“Parcel for Georgina Barker?” a chirpy voice said, once Georgie opened the door.  
“Ah yep, that’s me.”  
“Sign here please.”  
The sound of a stylus pen on a digital pad, then the door closing, and a van driving away.  
“What’ve you bought? More What the Ghost merch samples?” Melanie teased.  
“Er, no. It’s for you, actually.”  
“Me? Well, pass it here then,” they said, pleasantly surprised. Georgie deposited the parcel and a pair of scissors into their hands. They sliced at the wrapping carefully, and pulled out a few bundles of fabric, tags still attached. It was soft and sleek in their hands, like something you’d find in a pair of sports leggings.  
“What are these?” they asked, after trying for a moment to puzzle it out, and failing.  
“I ordered some binders for you. You mentioned, when you came out to me, that you didn’t like the feeling of your chest, and I didn’t want to overstep but I wanted to help. Jon used to use them, back before he got top surgery in uni-” Georgie started explaining, but was cut off by Melanie wrapping her in a hug.  
“Thank you,” they said, and grabbed one of the bundles, padding softly to the bathroom to put it on under their shirt. They couldn’t see themselves, obviously, but the relief was immediate. They ran their hands down their front, grinning when the outward curve they were used to turned out to be a flat surface. 

They bounded back out into the kitchen, nearly running into the table on their way. Georgie laughed, and stood up.  
“You look so handsome right now,” she said.  
“I’m in my pajamas,” Melanie pointed out, although they were smiling widely. They pulled Georgie into a tight hug, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. They didn’t feel at peace, not yet, but they were closer to it than they’d ever been.  
\----- 

Over the next year, the two of them tried out any number of gender-ish things. Melanie found that they were very partial to they/them pronouns as well as he/him, and once or twice a month they’d have a day where she/her felt right. Georgie was ridiculously supportive, and any time they thought about it, they couldn’t help but smile broadly. It was an odd sensation, being able to smile so easily. For their birthday, among other things, Georgie presented them with a set of bracelets. At first, they seemed like simple friendship bracelets, the kind they’d see kids on the playground exchanging when they were young. But as they worked their fingers around the bands, one at a time, they found a metal charm tied to each, with braille imprinted on. Pronouns. They turned their head towards Georgie.  
“I made them myself. I got the little charms off a lovely person on Etsy. They’re all different colours, so me and everyone else will be able to tell what kind of day it is. I picked colours I thought you’d like - blue, purple and yellow. You don’t have to wear them, but I thought they might be nice,” she said. Melanie could tell how nervous she was about them.  
“I love them,” they said, beaming. 

It wasn’t always easy. There were days where no matter what, Melanie couldn’t convince themselves to get out of bed and face the day. There were arguments with doctors and therapists and the NHS. But they found their place. Their friends, from before the apocalypse and after, loved them and respected them, used their favoured pronouns at every turn. And Georgie was there through it all, steady and warm. It wasn’t always easy, but they wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Descriptions of dysphoria, mentioned negative reactions to coming out, mentioned fears of future coming out receiving similar reactions (fears turn out to be unfounded). Canon-typical eye trauma, canon-typical whatever the heck is going on in season three and four (does that need a CW? I'm putting it here just in case). 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading!! I guess!! I've never posted on here before idk what to say.


End file.
